


Charmed 208: Divine Interventions

by Metal_Ox137



Series: Charmed AU2 [8]
Category: Charmed (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6338680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metal_Ox137/pseuds/Metal_Ox137
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Paige lapses back into alcoholism, Prue and Phoebe resort to supernatural means to save their sister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charmed 208: Divine Interventions

It was a bitterly cold Sunday night in San Francisco, and at the general hospital, Phoebe Halliwell paced the waiting room floor frantically. A few hours earlier, Phoebe's baby sister Paige had been brought to the hospital by ambulance, after she had gone on a drinking binge that had left her unconscious - and apparently bleeding internally. The fact that there was absolutely nothing that Phoebe could do only made the waiting that much worse. All Phoebe wanted to do, desperately, was to call Prue, but there was no way she was going to roll her older sister out of bed in the middle of the night - but she did place a call to Paige's boyfriend Henry Mitchell, who was now en route to the hospital.  
After an agonizingly long interval, the door to the triage center finally opened, and a young nurse called over to her. "Miss Halliwell?"  
Phoebe fairly leapt across the room. "How is she?"  
"Miss Matthews is resting. She's been transferred to one of the observation stations. You can see her now, if you like."  
"Thank you."  
Phoebe followed the nurse down the narrow corridor. It appeared to be a quiet night in the emergency room, as the hallway was deserted, and most of the beds stood empty.  
Phoebe entered the observation room, which was little more than a oblong compartment in the wall, almost entirely filled by the gurney and separated from the hallway by a thin privacy curtain. The room was quiet, apart from the gentle beeping of the equipment that monitored Paige's vital signs. The overhead lights were off, but the room was still partly lighted from the hallway, through the privacy curtain. Paige lay perfectly still on the hospital bed, her skin milk-white and covered in a light sheen of sweat. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was deep and regular. Phoebe watched the monitor for a moment, taking comfort from the fact that the pulse and heart rates were steady as a drum.  
The nurse checked all of Paige's vitals with practiced ease, then smiled perfunctorily at Phoebe. "I'll let the doctor know you're here."  
"Thank you."  
Phoebe took the chair next to Paige's bedside, and took her sister's hand in hers. Paige lolled her head to one side and opened one swollen eye.  
"Hey, Pheeble." The voice was little more than an acid rasp.  
"Hey, sweetie." Phoebe forced herself to smile, and squeezed Paige's hand gently.  
"Please don't be mad at me. I know I screwed up."  
"Not mad," Phoebe murmured. "Promise."  
"I didn't mean to, I really didn't," Paige started to say, but a fresh wave of pain gripped her and she squeezed her eyes shut, grimacing in agony.  
"Ow," she said finally. "That one really hurt."  
"Mmm. Well, that's what happens when you try to pickle yourself."  
Paige started to reply, and Phoebe put a finger gently to her sister's lips.  
"Hush," Phoebe told her. "No talking. No getting upset. Your stomach's had about as much abuse as it can take as it is."  
"You're not going to yell at me?"  
"Not tonight."  
"Oh."  
"The doctors want to keep you a little while longer, just to be sure you're out of danger. Then Henry and I are going to take you home and put you to bed."  
"Henry's here?"  
"He should be here any minute."  
Paige closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "Does Prue know?"  
Phoebe shook her head. "I'm going to call her in the morning."  
Phoebe reached over and gently smoothed some of Paige's sweat-soaked hair from her face.  
"Henry's going to stay with you tonight, and I'm staying with you all day tomorrow."  
"But we have to work."  
Phoebe made a small snort of derision. "Not happening, Paige. The only thing you're doing the next few days is taking clear fluids and staying in bed. Everything else will just have to wait. I'm going to call Mr. Cowan in the morning."  
"Tell him what really happened," Paige croaked. "Don't say I'm sick. Tell him I hurt myself."  
Phoebe thought that over for a minute.  
"I'm glad to hear you say that," Phoebe said quietly.  
"He knows I'm an alcoholic. I don't want you to lie for me."  
"Is this going to cost you your job, Paige?"  
"Doesn't matter," Paige grimaced from another bout of pain. "Don't cover for me, Phoebe, please. Don't make any excuses."  
"All right," Phoebe promised.  
"I made myself throw up, you know," Paige said, relaxing somewhat as the pain released its grip momentarily. "Right after I did it. I couldn't stop myself from drinking, but I was damned if I was going to keep it down."  
"That might have saved your life," Phoebe said grimly.  
The privacy curtain pulled aside, and a youngish Chinese man with close-cropped hair entered the room.  
"Miss Matthews?" he inquired.  
"That's me," Paige rasped.  
"I'm Doctor Zhou. How are you feeling?"  
"Not that bad, actually. My stomach's pretty messed up."  
"Do you know how much you had to drink this evening?"  
"Too much?" Paige made a feeble attempt at a joke.  
The doctor was unamused. "Your blood alcohol level is at 0.08 right now, it was just over 1.1 when you were brought in earlier. Do you understand what that means?"  
Paige weakly shook her head.  
"That means that over ten percent of your blood by volume was alcohol. There was so much alcohol in your blood, you placed yourself at extremely high risk of renal failure. Also, there is evidence of severe aggravation of a peptic ulcer. You could have very easily killed yourself tonight, Miss Matthews. We are going to keep you here in observation, so we can keep an eye on your liver and your stomach."  
"I can't go home?" Paige asked despairingly.  
"Not tonight. We'll continue to monitor you, and in the morning, and make a determination then as to how much longer we need to keep you." The doctor regarded Paige gravely. "Your medical history shows a clear and repeating pattern of substance abuse, Miss Matthews - particularly with alcohol. You didn't die tonight, but that may have been a fluke. If you don't reverse this pattern, you really _are_ going to kill yourself."  
"I won't give you any trouble," Paige said penitently.  
The doctor's stern countenance softened slightly. "It's been a while since you were last here," he said quietly. "Have you had any other unreported incidents since we last saw you?"  
"I had a little bender about eight months ago, but not bad enough to send me to the hospital," Paige admitted. "Since then, I've been completely sober."  
"A 'bender'?"  
"Just my usual. A little too much bourbon. Nothing since then."  
"No alcohol, no drugs, for the last eight months."  
"That's right."  
"Do you smoke?"  
"No."  
"Are you taking any prescription medications?"  
"No."  
"Five years ago, you were brought in here because of a cocaine overdose. Do you remember that?"  
"Yeah."  
"Are you still using cocaine?"  
"Hell, no."  
"You haven't had any cocaine at all since you were admitted five years ago."  
"NO," Paige answered, then added, "Look, I understand you need to do the cross-examination, but I'm really trying to behave. Honest. I did that only once, and never again - it nearly killed me."  
"You should consider adopting a similar mindset with regards to alcohol." The doctor regarded her carefully. "Have you been under any severe emotional distress lately?"  
Paige hesitated for a moment, then nodded weakly. "Yeah. You could say that."  
Despite his gruff manner, the doctor was a sympathetic interviewer and good listener; when he had satisfied himself as to the context of Paige's episode, he rewarded her with a somber smile.  
"I'm glad to see you understand how serious your problem is," he said quietly. "I have to be honest, you scared me tonight, Miss Matthews. Doctors don't like to be scared for their patients."  
"I promise, I'll be good."  
"And before we can discharge you, I'm going to have several of my colleagues review your case history." He looked at her soberly. "Including a psychiatrist."  
"I'll do whatever you tell me," Paige vowed. "I just want to get well, and go home."  
The doctor nodded; that would do for now. "We'll see," he said noncommittally.  
After the doctor left, Phoebe sighed sadly. Paige shifted in the bed slightly. "You don't need to stay, Pheeble. I'm gonna be here all night. You might as well go home."  
"Like that's happening," Phoebe retorted.  
Henry Mitchell poked his head around the edge of the privacy curtain. "Henry." Phoebe rushed over to him and hugged him tightly. "I'm so sorry, I thought I should call you. I kind of freaked."  
"It's all right, Phoebe. I'm really glad you did."  
"Sweetie, Henry's here."  
Paige tried to give Henry a grin, an attempt which failed utterly. "Hey, baby."  
"I just talked to the doctor. He says he's going to keep Paige here tonight, and as long as there are no complications, she can go home in the morning." Henry addressed these remarks to Phoebe, and he was clearly struggling to keep his emotions in check.  
"If you want to stay with Paige tonight, I'll stay with her all day tomorrow, after she comes home," Phoebe answered. "Or I can come back in the morning, if they decide to keep her longer."  
Henry nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Phoebe. I appreciate that." He paused. "Would you mind giving me and Paige a moment alone, please?"  
"Sure." Phoebe leaned over and kissed Paige on the forehead. Even her sister's sweat reeked of alcohol. "See you later, sweetie."  
"Bye, Pheeble. Thanks for coming to my rescue."  
Phoebe left the observation area and returned the waiting room. In spite of her best attempts to keep her emotions under control, she paced frantically and finally had to step outside into the parking lot, where she burst into heartbroken sobs.

* * *

It was a bleak and anxious night for Phoebe, who, despite her best intentions, barely slept that night. She and Henry agreed that Henry would remain with Paige until she was discharged from the hospital, and Phoebe would stay with her all the following day, and longer if needed. Phoebe returned to the apartment and mechanically went about the necessary task of clearing away the bottles, wiping up the vomit and washing the kitchen table and floor. The reek was stifling, but in the space of an hour or so, the worst of it had been rinsed away.  
She also made up Paige's bed with fresh sheets and brought in extra pillows, and made sure plenty of water, tea and fruit juice was in easy reach of Paige's nightstand, along with a plastic bucket - just in case.  
Unable to sleep, she lay on the couch, fidgeting. She and Paige had grown so close in such a short time. Their bond seemed unshakeable, and Paige herself seemed so happy and content with her new life, both as a witch and sister in the Halliwell coven. How could she do this to herself?  
Phoebe dozed at irregular intervals, for a few minutes here and there, but she kept waking, heart pounding. Each time she woke she had to weep for a few minutes, before settling back and allowing a troubled sleep to claim her again.  
Henry and Paige returned to the apartment the following morning. Paige, looking decidedly green, allowed Henry to escort her directly to bed, and she snuggled into it gratefully and fell almost instantly asleep.  
Henry and Phoebe appraised each other's haggard appearance.  
"You didn't sleep either," Henry observed.  
"Not much, no," Phoebe admitted.  
"Okay, I'm going to go home, and try to sleep at least a couple of hours. I'd like to call and check on her, but I don't want to wake her."  
"Do you want me to call you at the office later?"  
"That would be great, Phoebe, thanks." He gave her a wan smile. "You should get some sleep too."  
"In a bit. I'm sleeping with Paige in her bed today. Just in case. But I need to wait a bit, so I can call Prue. And I need to call Mr. Cowan." She bit her lip. "I'm not looking forward to those conversations."  
Henry nodded grimly. "She's been good as gold, you know," he allowed after a moment. "This is the first slip she's had in months. She loves you and Prue so much. You're practically all she talks about these days."  
Phoebe nodded tearfully. "Yeah. We think she's pretty special, too."  
"She really worries that she's letting you down."  
"She hasn't."  
"Let her know that. Please." Henry sighed deeply. "I really need some down time."  
"Is there anything I can do for you, Henry?" Phoebe asked, feeling an overpowering sense of helplessness. "Anything at all?"  
"You're already doing it, Phoebe. You're watching over the most important person in my life." Henry struggled to compose himself. "She's my world," he said finally.  
His emotions momentarily suppressed, he let out a ragged sigh. "Okay, I'm out," he said. "Call me later."  
"I will," Phoebe promised.  
"And thanks, Phoebe. Thanks for everything."  
"Good night, Henry. Drive safe. Sleep well."  
After Henry left, Phoebe made herself a pot of peppermint tea, then sipped it slowly while standing in the doorway of Paige's bedroom, watching her baby sister sleeping, her breathing deep and regular.  
_Never do this to me again, Shorty,_ Phoebe thought to herself. _Don't you dare. I love you too much. It will kill me._  
Phoebe kept one eye on the clock, and when she knew that Prue and Patience would be having breakfast - breggfirst, she corrected herself - she took several deep breaths and dialed Prue's home phone.  
Prue picked up on the second ring.  
"Hello?"  
"Hey, Prue. It's me."  
"What's wrong?" Prue instantly sensed there was trouble.  
"It's, ah..." Phoebe found herself struggling to keep her composure. "It's Paige. I had to take her to the emergency room last night. She..." Phoebe couldn't keep her voice from breaking. "She's been drinking again, Prue, and she got really, really sick."  
Prue was silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was strained. "You're both at home now?"  
"Yeah."  
"I'm on my way."  
"Prue... I'm so sorry," Phoebe was almost sobbing.  
"Phoebe, it's okay. I'll be there as soon as I can."  
"Thanks, Prue. I love you."  
"Love you too, Phoebe. See you soon."  
It was several more minutes before Phoebe could compose herself enough to make the second call, to Bob Cowan, the supervisor at the office where she and Paige worked. This time, Phoebe was able to keep her voice steady, and she was able to relate the information without tearing up.  
As Paige had indicated, Cowan knew her condition and his main expression was one of deep concern.  
"She's not going to get fired, is she?" Phoebe quavered.  
"No. Absolutely not," Cowan's gentle voice reassured her. "But it does mean she will have to go back on probation. And she'll have to go back to counseling again."  
"I'm staying with her today. My sister, Prue, is going to look after her too, so I hope to be back to work tomorrow."  
"Phoebe, dedication to work is fine. This is far more important. Take the time you need. Just call me every day, to keep me updated."  
"Thank you," Phoebe sighed with heartfelt gratitude.  
"Paige isn't just an employee as far as I'm concerned. I consider her a friend. If there's anything I can do to help, call me."  
"I will."  
Feeling as utterly exhausted as she could remember, Phoebe returned to the bedroom and watched over her sleeping sister. She dared not slip onto that soft bed, else she would be asleep in moments, and she had to be awake long enough to let Prue in.  
When Prue arrived, she took one look at Phoebe's appearance and ordered her straight to bed. "You. Bed. Now," she said sternly, pointing to Phoebe's own room.  
Phoebe regarded her older sister with a mixture of gratitude and overwhelming admiration. No matter how bad things were, she marveled, Prue always made them right.  
"I love you," she said simply.  
"I love you," Prue replied, kissing Phoebe on the cheek. "Go to sleep."  
Phoebe padded off to her own bedroom, and nearly fell into her bed, grateful for the release and feeling protected. In moments she was fast asleep.  
Prue stepped into Paige's room, watching her for a time, just as Phoebe had done. Then, sighing, she removed her jacket and shoes, and slipped onto the bed, snuggling next to Paige and spooning her from behind. She draped one arm protectively over her. Paige stirred but didn't wake.  
Prue closed her eyes, but did not sleep, listening to the deep breathing of her baby sister, as the long hours of the morning ticked slowly by.

* * * 

Phoebe woke that afternoon with a sour stomach and a worse disposition. She struggled to get out of bed, determined to check on Paige.  
Prue was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping green tea. She was calm, but her puffy eyes betrayed the fact she'd been weeping.  
"Hey," Phoebe sat next to her at the table. "You okay?"  
Prue nodded, not trusting herself to speak.  
"How's our baby sister?"  
Prue sighed. "Not good."  
"How so?"  
"As you know, I'm able to sense mystical energy and just life energy in general. I've scanned Paige, and she's about as close to zero as anyone I've ever seen."  
"She's not dying?" Phoebe asked, alarmed.  
"No, no, nothing like that. But I suspect she's going through a clinical depression."  
"Is she suicidal?"  
"I don't think so. But I don't think we should leave her alone, either."  
"Henry and I will both be here all night tonight."  
"Good." Prue put down her teacup. "She's only been up once, to use the bathroom. The rest of the time she's just curled herself into a ball. For now, don't try to get her to talk. Just let her be. Make sure she drinks plenty of water or green tea, though, at least once an hour - nothing else, not even fruit juice, nothing with any sugar in it."  
"Okay."  
Prue regarded her sister carefully. "Are _you_ okay, Pheebs?"  
Phoebe took in a deep breath and exhaled sharply. "I'm scared, Prue," she confessed at last. "I mean, really scared. Paige could have died last night. And - and if she had..." She broke off, unable to finish her thoughts.  
"I'm scared, too," Prue admitted. "But Paige is past the worst of it now. I'm certain of that. She'll pull out of it on her own, she just needs time." She stood up wearily. "I need to go pick up Patience."  
"Prue? Thank you. For everything." Phoebe managed a weak smile. "Like always."  
Prue returned the smile, then walked into Paige's room. Paige was still curled on the bed in a near-fetal position. Prue leaned over and kissed her sister on the cheek.  
"I'll be back tomorrow," she whispered. "I'll bring Patience by to visit you. Phoebe will be staying with you until Henry can get here. I love you."  
Paige made no response at all.  
Phoebe frowned as Prue left the room. "Isn't she asleep?"  
"She's awake, just not very responsive. She's trying to conserve her energy. Depression is exhausting. Hopefully, by tomorrow morning, she should be ready to try to eat something."  
Impulsively, Phoebe pulled her sister close and hugged her tightly. "I don't know what I'd do without you," she murmured.  
"I feel the same about you," Prue said, returning the hug. "I love you, Phoebe. See you tomorrow. Make sure you get plenty of rest yourself. Your own energy is none too good."  
"I am feeling pretty drained," Phoebe admitted.  
After Prue left, Phoebe padded into Paige's room, and slipped onto the bed. Paige hadn't bathed, but sometime during the day Prue had coaxed her into some pajamas. Phoebe settled in next to her sister and pulled a light blanket up over both of them. Paige shifted her weight slightly, but otherwise made no response. Phoebe draped one arm protectively over her sister and closed her eyes, not to sleep, but simply waiting.  
Henry arrived shortly after six, and Phoebe made a simple meal of boiled pasta and steamed asparagus, which she and Henry shared at the dining table in companionable silence. They offered a few bites to Paige, but she simply wrinkled up her nose and grimaced - her stomach was still too wretched for solid food.  
After dinner, Phoebe kissed her sister goodnight and retired to her own room. Prue was right, Phoebe realized, she was exhausted and desperately needed a full night's sleep. After she crawled into bed, she fell asleep almost instantly, and didn't wake until nearly seven the next morning.  
When Phoebe finally made it into the kitchen, Henry was already showered and dressed, getting ready for work. "Good morning," he greeted her with a tired smile.  
"Did you sleep?" Phoebe asked.  
"Actually, we did," Henry nodded. "I still can't get anything out of her this morning, but she is sitting up finally. No more pillbug mode."  
"That's good," Phoebe sighed with relief.  
"Yeah, I think so, too."  
"Okay, I'll try coaxing her into taking a few bites of breakfast. I'll call you later?"  
"Thanks, Phoebe." Impulsively, Henry leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "You're a guardian angel if ever we had one."  
After Henry departed, Phoebe padded into the bedroom. Paige was laying on her side facing the door, and actually raised her head to look up when Phoebe entered.  
Phoebe sat on the bed and looked at her sister critically. She looked haggard, but no longer sick. "Hey," she said softly, "Do you think you might be up to a couple of bites of cream of wheat?"  
Paige hesitated, then nodded.  
"Okay." Phoebe smiled. "Lay back and rest. I'll bring you something in a few minutes, something bland that should sit okay on that bad tummy of yours."  
Feeling greatly relieved, Phoebe returned to the kitchen, and made some cream of wheat and plain toast, along with more green tea, placed it on a tray and took it into the bedroom.  
With some difficulty, Paige managed to sit up by herself. Phoebe propped the pillows up behind her sister's back, then sat on the bed next to her.  
Paige ate slowly, and without appetite, but she seemed determined to eat something, and did manage to finish off the better part of a small bowl of hot cereal and a half a slice of toast. Her stomach protested with a nauseating gurgle, but Paige didn't gag. Finally, she lay back, exhausted.  
"All done?" Phoebe asked, and Paige nodded, eyes closed.  
Phoebe cleared the tray away and returned to the bedroom.  
"Ready to lay back down?"  
Again, Paige nodded. Phoebe helped her sister slide back down onto the mattress, and placed one of the pillows under her head.  
Paige sighed deeply. "Hey, Pheeble?" she rasped.  
"Yeah?"  
"What did Mr. Cowan say?"  
"He's worried about you. Just like everybody else." Phoebe managed a slight grin. "He also says you're the best thing that's happened on planet earth since chicken and waffles."  
Paige managed a subdued giggle, but was still too sore for outright laughter.  
"Doctor Zhou gave me a whole list of referrals, so I'll start setting up your appointments today - starting with the endoscopy suite."  
"Ugh," Paige sighed. "I _hate_ the whole tube down the throat thing."  
Phoebe gave her sister a reproving glance. "It's your own fault, for trying to burn a hole in your stomach," she pointed out.  
Paige whimpered slightly, and to take the sting off the rebuke, Phoebe leaned over to kiss her sister's forehead. "Paige - I just want you to know something. I know meeting your father really upset you -"  
"Phoebe, please don't -"  
"Hear me out," Phoebe shushed her. "You're not alone, Paige. Prue and I both know what it's like to be abandoned by our fathers. We know how badly it hurts." Phoebe had to pause for a moment, to push away her own ugly memories. "We know what you're going through. We've had to deal with the exact same thing you're trying to deal with now - and we can _help_ you."  
She gave Paige's hand a gentle squeeze. "So when you're ready ... let us help you. Please."  
"I will," Paige promised.  
Phoebe sighed with relief. "Good. I love you."  
"Love you too," Paige murmured, and moments later, fell fast asleep.  
Paige slept most of the morning, but now her sleep was closer to normal rest, her breathing deep and regular. Phoebe took advantage of the opportunity to slip into a steaming hot bath, to soak some of her lingering tension away.  
That afternoon, Paige seemed much improved, although still disinclined to talk. She made it to the bathroom under her own power, twice, a sign that her bodily functions were slowly returning to normal. She took some clear vegetable broth for lunch, and remained awake from that point on, still tired but no longer sick.  
As promised, Prue stopped by in the afternoon, bringing Patience with her after picking her up from day care. The child went bounding into Paige's bedroom and looked at her auntie critically.  
"You don't look so good, Auntie Paige."  
"That's okay, kiddo. I don't feel so good, either."  
"Will you read me a story?"  
In spite of her misery, Paige couldn't help laughing. "Sure," she answered.  
For the next hour, Prue listened tolerantly while Paige and Patience shared some quality bonding time; but by the end of the third story, she'd had enough.  
"Okay, Patience has had her turn with you. Now it's my turn." She took her daughter by the arm and guided her firmly but gently to the great room to stay with Phoebe, then returned to Paige's bedroom and closed the door behind her.  
"Ooh, I don't like the sound of that," Phoebe couldn't help murmuring to herself.  
"It's okay, Auntie Phoebe," Patience said, crawling up into her auntie's lap. "Mommy just wants Auntie Paige to know how much we love her."

Paige sat on the end of the bed, bracing herself. "Prue, I know you must be angry with me, but -"  
"Angry?" Prue's eyes flashed fire. "I'm furious with you, Paige."  
Paige immediately shut down, deciding that saying anything more would only be counter-productive. Prue noted her sister's submissive demeanor and relented somewhat.  
"I'm not going to read you the riot act," Prue said, in carefully measured tones. "You know you screwed up."  
"I know. I'm sorry, Prue."  
"I want you to be more than sorry, Paige, I expect you to fix this." Prue had to exercise considerable self-restraint against her mounting anger. "You're part of a family now, and part of a coven. We need you, Paige. We need you sober and functional, and we need to know we can rely on you."  
Prue sat on the bed next to her sister. "You know that if you're ever feeling a weakness or a craving, you can call any one of us, day or night, declare a 'code blue' and we will come running," Prue said in a quieter voice. "And we will sit with you for as long as it takes."  
Paige felt tears welling in her eyes. "I know you will," she said brokenly.  
"Don't wait until after something bad happens to call. If you know you're in danger, if you even think you might be, call right then, don't wait for anything. We'll never hold that against you, never."  
Paige burst into tears and Prue gathered her sobbing sister into her arms. When Paige's paroxysm of grief subsided, Prue gave her one final hug, kissed her forehead and released her.  
"You'll have to go back into rehab," Prue said quietly.  
"I'm ready," Paige declared solemnly. "This is never happening again, Prue, I swear it. I'm done being sick. I never want my sisters - or my four year old niece - to have to scrape me off the floor out of my own vomit ever again. It's not happening."  
That last statement had a grim determination to it, and Prue smiled sadly at her sister.  
"It's not enough to just want it, Paige. I know you're sincere now. But don't ever try to do this alone again, ever. It's your fight, but you're stronger when your family can help."  
"Hold me accountable," Paige exclaimed, looking at her sister with all seriousness. "Don't let me off the hook for one second."  
"Oh, sweetie, I promise, I am going to ride you, like only your big sister can," Prue vowed. "And you are not going to like it, not one little bit."  
"I'm ready," Paige declared quietly.  
Prue stared at her sister, and then shook her head. "Not for this, you're not."  
Paige felt a slight thrill of dread.

* * * 

Prue returned to the kitchen a few moments later.  
"Phoebe, are the bottles that Paige drank from still here?" she asked.  
"Uhh, yeah. In the trash. Why?"  
Prue walked over to the trash can, lifted the lid, and extracted the wine bottle. She looked over the glass critically. She even sniffed it, and Phoebe regarded Prue's actions with a mixture of puzzlement and disgust.  
"Do you know if she drank straight from this bottle?" Prue asked.  
"Well ... there weren't any glasses out," Phoebe answered. "So I guess she must have done, yeah. What are you doing?"  
Prue carefully placed the bottle into a large paper grocery bag.  
"I'll be back, after I drop Patience off with Darryl," she announced. "Then you and I are going to stage an intervention."  
"Is that necessary?" Phoebe asked seriously. "I'm pretty sure this binge was set off by seeing her dad. I doubt she's at any serious risk to repeat that mistake."  
Prue shook her head. "I'm not taking that chance," she declared, and her face darkened with anger. "And if this is the impact Paige's father is going to have on her, then I hope he stays lost for good."

* * *

Shortly after sunset, Prue returned to the apartment, and began to set up a makeshift altar on the low coffee table. Phoebe watched her, intrigued.  
"You're setting up for a summoning spell?" she asked.  
"Very good," Prue smiled appreciatively. "You're really starting to pick this up - or did you just intuit what I was doing?"  
"I try to learn from you." She looked at the arrangement. None of the artifacts seemed familiar. "Exactly who, or what, are we summoning?"  
"An old friend of mine - someone who has singular expertise with Paige's particular problem."  
"Alive or dead?" Phoebe asked dubiously.  
"He's very much alive," Prue laughed. "But he's not the sort of person for whom you can just pick up the telephone and call."  
She pulled a brittle parchment from her oversized bag and carefully unrolled it. Phoebe looked over the ornate lettering and frowned.  
"That's not Greek - is it?"  
"Ancient Greek, yes."  
"Can't we _ever_ do spells in English?" Phoebe groaned.  
"It's good to learn new languages, Phoebe." Prue smiled tolerantly at her sister.  
"Says the woman who can speak every language known to man," Phoebe retorted.  
"Not _every_ language," Prue countered. "Just six."  
"Show off," Phoebe grumbled.  
"Oh, stop fussing," Prue teased gently, "And get your linguistically challenged butt over here and help me."

* * *

Paige awoke with a start. Disoriented, she looked at her bedroom clock. It was still early in the evening, but the apartment seemed utterly still and silent. She could see light under her bedroom door, which implied Phoebe and Prue were still around - but why were they so quiet? Slipping out of the bed, Paige quickly shrugged herself into a t-shirt and pair of shorts, and stepped out into the great room.  
There was no one in the living room or study - but as she glanced over towards the kitchen, she saw a grizzled, weatherbeaten figure lounging in one of the chairs at the dinette. At first glance, he seemed utterly nondescript, shabbily dressed in dark coat, white dress shirt, slacks and loafers - all of which might have been presentable at one time, had they not been frayed and worn and utterly threadbare. He wore a battered sailor's cap, jauntily tilted so far to one side that it threatened to fall off his head.  
"Well, well," he rasped. "You must be Prue's baby sister." His voice sounded like he had been gargling glass shards in his throat his entire life.  
Paige drew in a deep breath. As she could see the man a little more clearly, his face was so weatherbeaten that his skin had the appearance and texture of driftwood. He smiled easily, showing a line of crooked, yellowed teeth. Paige was astonished the face could move at all without splitting or cracking. The right eye socket was empty, with an old scar running just over the eyelid; the remaining eye, yellowed and bloodshot, stood resolutely fixed upon her.  
"Well, don't just stand there gawking at me, sweetcheeks. Come on over here, and let's get acquainted."  
As Paige got nearer to the table, she blinked once in surprise - and then blinked again, to be sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. Where the man's gnarled hand rested on the tabletop, tiny stems and vines were shooting out of the tips of his fingers, embedding themselves into the wood of the table; the tiniest cluster of bright green leaves, as fine as moss, popped out at the end of each stem. Where his feet touched the floor, similar growth, like roots, quietly piled up underneath the table.  
"Sorry about that," the man grunted, brushing away the seedlings from the table with some slight embarrassment. "Occupational hazard with me, I'm afraid."  
"Who - who are you?" Paige asked.  
"I'm a friend of your sister's. She asked me to come over here tonight, to stage a little intervention for you."  
"Intervention?"  
"Yeah, that's rich, ain't it? Coming from me."  
"Are you a demon?" Paige asked hesitantly.  
"I get that a lot," the man returned affably. "But, nahh. I'm no demon. Once upon a time, believe it or not, I used to be a god. Now, I'm just old."  
He smiled self-depreciatingly. "You _are_ a looker, ain'tcha? You Halliwell girls, you all have the greatest asses. Damn. You make me wish I was about two hundred years younger." His smile turned to a leer, but his admiration was so sincere it hardly seemed indecent. Paige was still too shocked by his mere presence to take offense.  
"Don't worry about all the vines," he assured her. "I won't be here long enough for any of 'em to take permanent root. Well, come on over, sweetness. Take a pew, and before we get down to the nasty business, let's introduce ourselves."  
"Where are my sisters?" Paige asked apprehensively.  
"Downstairs. I told 'em it would be best if you and I did this alone."  
Hesitantly, Paige took the nearest chair and stared at her visitor with deep unease.  
"Normally, this is the point where I'd say, you don't need to be afraid of me," the man began awkwardly. "But I'm not sure that'd be entirely honest in your case. Your sister Prue called me because it seems you're in need of a little tough love. So I'm here to provide it."  
He appeared to be reaching into his coat pocket, which clearly had nothing in it, yet somehow from its emptiness he managed to produce a large, darkly-tinted wine bottle covered with a thick layer of dust, an ancient corkscrew, and two crystal wine glasses, delicately carved and spotlessly clean. As he set these items on the table, he noted Paige's baffled expression with bemusement.  
"Really?" he asked. "You're a witch, and a little sleight of hand like this pops your cork? Damn." His expression softened, and he stared at Paige almost sadly. "Sorry. I sometimes forget, how young you mortals are."  
He leaned forward in his chair and offered his hand. "Time for introductions. My buddies call me Deadface. But you might know me better as, Bacchus, God of Wine."  
Paige couldn't help snorting aloud with laughter. "You seriously expect me to believe that?" she asked.  
"I really couldn't give a crap whether you believe it or don't, sweetcheeks, it's so." The old god grinned at her.  
"You're _the_ God of Wine."  
"In person."  
"Shouldn't you have, I don't know, horns growing out of your head, or something?"  
"What do you think's keeping my hat on?" the wine god protested, and he lifted his cap long enough for Paige to see that there were, in fact, two small horns protruding from either side of his wide forehead. He put the cap back on and grinned.  
"The ladies get upset if I don't keep my appendages covered up," he explained with a leer.  
"Oh, don't even start," Paige protested with a groan.  
Bacchus fixed her with a stare that was equal parts wistfulness and lust. "You really are a sweet little flower," he said, with genuine admiration. "I've known some lovely nymphs in my time. You'd give any of 'em a serious run for their money." He shook his head. "Anyway, darlin', I'm here on business, so if it's all the same to you, we'll skip the pleasantries and get right on to the horrid task at hand - namely, getting your sweet ass off the bottle."  
Paige frowned. "What, you're gonna help me get sober? Isn't that a little, uhh, incongruous for the God of Wine?"  
"I normally loosen tight asses, not screw 'em down," the old god admitted. "But there have been times, now and then, when I've helped a lost soul dry out. It's not my favorite thing to do, mind you. But there has to be balance in the world, hasn't there?"  
"And you really know my sister."  
"I've known Prue for about eight years now, I'd guess. She did me a good turn once." He smiled. "Now that she's had a kid and filled out a little, she's looking mighty fine, I must say."  
As Paige glared at him, Bacchus protested, "Hey, I'm only old. I'm not dead. But yeah, let's get rid of the distractions, and get down to the real meat and potatoes."  
He hefted the wine bottle lovingly, and began to wipe away the dust with his coat sleeve.  
"Now _this,"_ he announced proudly, "Is some of the finest juice this world has ever known. True nectar of the gods, this is. Even Poppa Zeus got a wicked hangover off this particular batch. Ambrosia is swill, by comparison. This stuff came from the finest grapes that were, back in the days when the Aegean was still covered in forest. Only three bottles remain, and you and I are gonna share one tonight."  
Paige was utterly baffled. "Seriously? You're going to cure me of drinking - by making me drink a glass of wine?"  
The old god looked down his long nose at the young witch. "You've never had a glass of wine like this one," he assured her ominously. "This stuff will - how do you young people say it? - this shit will fuck your shit up. Or something like that. People of your generation are such vulgarians."  
He regarded the corkscrew for a moment, then casually tossed it aside, opting instead to pry the end of the cork out of the bottle with his teeth. He spat the cork away, and it sailed off into a corner of the room.  
"Old habits," the wine god offered, as if in apology. "Lotsa places don't have decent corkscrews. You learn to make do."  
He pulled one of the glasses to him, and filled it near to the rim with dark red wine. It poured slowly, almost like syrup. Paige watched him with growing trepidation. After filling the first glass, Bacchus poured the second, and gently pushed the glass over to Paige.  
"So, how is this supposed to work?" Paige asked, genuinely perplexed. "We're just going to have a glass of wine? Is that all?"  
Bacchus looked at her as if pained. Then he sighed. "I suppose it's probably better, if you don't know what's coming," he allowed.  
"I don't understand what I'm supposed to do," Paige admitted.  
"We're just here to do one thing," the old god declared. "We're going to drink a toast to your very good health, and hopefully, your very long life."  
He hoisted his glass. "Here's looking at you, kid."  
"Oh, no Bogart," Paige protested, with a moue of dismay.  
"Why not? It's a great line. Oh, fine, have it your way." He nodded that Paige should pick up her glass. "Normally, I'd say, sip it slowly, but you might want to just gulp this down all in one go and get it over with. To your health," he toasted, "And to the health of your sisters."  
Screwing down her courage as best she could, Paige decided she could drink to that. She lifted the glass to her lips and began to drink. Surprisingly, she found she could not stop herself - and drained the glass dry in a space of half a minute. As Paige set the glass down on the table, she began to realize what had been done to her - and what was about to happen.  
"Oh, no," she moaned softly.  
The old god of wine shook his head sadly. "That's the trouble with you young people nowadays," he sighed forlornly. "Can't hold your drink."

* * *

About forty minutes later, Bacchus ambled down the short stairway to the third floor, where Phoebe and Prue were pacing restlessly in the lobby. They looked up anxiously as he exited the stairwell.  
"It's done," he announced.  
"Is Paige all right?" Prue asked.  
"Well . . ." The old god seemed slightly embarrassed. "She's not gonna be getting out of bed for about a week, I'd guess. And you'd best give her nothing but clear fluids during that time. A little mutton broth works wonders." He gave Prue a reassuring smile. "She did good. Took it like a champ. And I'm willing to bet your last drachma, when she's finally on her feet, she's never touching a bottle again."  
"You forced her to drink alcohol when she has a stomach ulcer?" Phoebe was aghast.  
Bacchus held up his hands in a gesture of pacification. "Hey, relax, darlin'. My wine has restorative powers you won't find in any cheap plonk from your local grocery store. What I gave her was strictly medicinal. And your baby sister has a hardier constitution than you think. She's gonna be fine."  
"Thank you," Prue sighed with relief.  
"Yeah, well, don't go spreading it around that I'm encouraging sobriety. It's bad for my image."  
"Your secret is safe with us," Prue grinned.  
"You and I should split a bottle sometime soon, for old times' sake. I mean, something a mortal constitution can handle."  
"I'd like that very much," Prue nodded. "I can't take you up on it right now, though."  
"Oh? Why's that?"  
Prue gave him a wide smile. "I'm with child."  
"Really." The old god's smile bared both his gums. "That's great news, Prudence. Your second, right?"  
"You remembered. Yes. This will be number two."  
"Boy or girl?"  
"I don't know yet."  
"As long as the kid looks like you, it's all good." He gave Phoebe an appraising glance. "How about you, beautiful? Would you like to drink the night away? If you'd give an old man about three days to work up to it, I'm sure we could make some divinely sweet music together."  
"Thanks," Phoebe demurred with a smile. "But I'm happily spoken for."  
Bacchus seemed to take no offense at the gentle refusal. "Another time, then," he grinned. "Yeah. Well. Normally, I'd leave a bottle with you ladies, for remembrance," he added. "But seeing as it would just make your little sister violently sick, I'll just say, next time you're in Naxos, look me up."  
"Thank you." Prue embraced the old god warmly. "It was good to see you, old friend."  
"You too, Prue. You get better looking every time I see you. I mean that." He ambled back towards the stairwell. "You ladies take care of yourselves - and that sweet young thing upstairs. And, uh, sorry about the mess."  
"Where did you dig up that old fossil?" Phoebe asked her sister, as the old god tramped down the stairwell in surprisingly mortal fashion.  
Prue grinned. "Naxos, Greece, 1992."  
"And what did he mean by, the mess?"  
"I'm guessing there's probably some more vomit to clean up," Prue sighed. "And a whole lot of grape vines."  
_"Grape vines?"_  
"And no matter how tempted you might be, don't plant _any_ of them," Prue cautioned with a grin. "The world has a hard enough time with the wine we have now."

* * *

The following evening, Henry Mitchell returned to Phoebe and Paige's apartment after work, and slipped into Paige's bedroom, only to find it completely darkened.  
"Hey, baby, it's okay, I'm awake," Paige Matthews called from the bed.  
"Is it okay if I put the lights on?" Henry asked.  
"Can you please just light the candle on the dresser? My eyes are still shooting fireworks."  
"Sure."  
He lit the candle, which flared briefly, then settled down and cast a dim yellow-orange glow about the room. Henry shrugged out of his coat and hung it in the closet. He regarded Paige in her pajamas skeptically.  
"This is new," he said.  
"Yeah." Paige regarded her attire with similar dubiance. "Prue brought 'em for me. Didn't want me catching cold, I guess. It's fine. I'm not feeling particularly slutty at the moment."  
"You feeling better, at least?" Henry asked, climbing onto the bed.  
"Feeling... human," Paige decided. Henry sat with his back against the headboard and Paige snuggled up to him. Henry began to stroke Paige's hair. Paige sighed, not wanting to start the conversation, but knowing it couldn't be avoided.  
"Can we just go back to last Saturday, and stay frozen in time there forever?" she asked plaintively.  
Henry regarded her with an appraising look. "Is that really what you want to do?"  
"Well, yeah. I guess so. Sure."  
Henry gave her a tolerating smile.  
"You don't?" Paige's remark was more a realization than a question.  
Henry shrugged. "I guess... the idea of getting stuck anywhere doesn't really appeal to me," he said thoughtfully. "I'd rather move forward."  
"Are you ... mad at me?" Paige asked.  
"Mad?" Henry paused only for a moment in stroking Paige's hair. "No. Not really. Scared, a little bit. Worried, a lot. Mad? No."  
"I think I put you through hell," Paige said quietly.  
"You put yourself through hell," Henry pointed out. "That's far worse than anything you ever do to me."  
"Well, it's not happening again," Paige declared quietly.  
"I want to believe that, Paige, I really do," Henry said after a moment's consideration. "But I've heard that before."  
Paige struggled to sit up, so she could look Henry in the eye.  
"Henry, I need to know something, seriously."  
Henry hesitated a moment, then shrugged. "Shoot."  
"Have I... damaged... us? I mean, have I fucked things up between us, to the point where they can't ever be made right again?"  
Henry shook his head. "No," he said emphatically. "I was telling your sister earlier, you've been good as gold. This is the first bad skid you've had in a long, long time."  
"I'm not having any more skids," Paige said fiercely. "I'm done, Henry. I'm grateful that you're always there to pick me up whenever I fall over, but I don't want you to do that anymore. Not for any self-inflicted wound, anyway."  
Henry Mitchell regarded his lover carefully. There was no flicker of indecision in her expression, only determination and resolution.  
"If I haven't destroyed our relationship, then I want it to change," Paige said quietly. "I need for it to change. I need to change."  
"I'm listening."  
"I don't want to be the flirty, flaky girlfriend any more. You always let me be playful, and I appreciate that, more than I can tell you. And I don't want us to stop being playful together. But it's time for me to be something more than that."  
Paige took in a deep breath, then exhaled. "I really fucked up this weekend. I know that. But I have to get better with dealing with shit. Because now it's like, I'm a witch, and there demons and angels and monsters and God knows what else out there that I'm going to have to deal with. I feel like I have to buckle up for one seriously weird funhouse ride. And there's no way I'm getting through this in one piece, if I don't have my head screwed on straight."  
Paige watched for Henry's reaction anxiously. He wasn't judging, simply listening.  
"I got blindsided by a shitty day. And I can't afford to just fall apart any time that happens to me. Because that's what happens in real life. And it happens a lot."  
"I think this time was a little different," Henry suggested quietly.  
Paige frowned. "How so?"  
"This was about your father, Paige. I've been trying to put myself in your shoes, and seriously? If my old man had treated me like that, I'm not sure I would've handled it any better than you did."  
Paige shook her head. "I appreciate that, Henry, I really do. But my go-to move can't be poisoning my liver, or eating another hole in my stomach lining. I have to get better at rolling with the punches."  
"Maybe it's not so much about rolling with the punches."  
"How do you mean?"  
"We all get clotheslined from time to time. It happens. We all reach a point where we can't get back up by ourselves. And maybe the answer is, who or what do you reach for, to help you get back on your feet."  
"Stop reaching for the bottle, and reach for something else?"  
"Or maybe somebody else."  
Paige smiled somberly. "Like you, for instance?"  
"Me. Or Phoebe. Or Prue. Or Ben and Eudora. Or all of us at once. It's never weakness to ask for help, Paige. Sometimes, it's the most courageous thing you can do."  
"Why do I think you're speaking from first hand experience?" Paige asked sadly.  
Henry pursed his lips. "It's just - if this is gonna work - you and me - _us_ \- then ... we need to know we can call on each other for help." He smiled at her. "I just know, when that bad day happens to me, there's nobody I'd rather call than you."  
"I want to be that person," Paige blurted out. "I want to be _your_ person. Your stand-up woman. Your good as gold Paige."  
Henry's approving smile felt like warm sunlight on Paige's face. "That's a good start," he nodded.  
"You are the best thing that's ever happened to me, Henry Mitchell. I still can't believe how lucky I was to find you, and I'm ready to do whatever I have to, to keep you. I want to be the person who always has your back, like you've always had mine. Someone you can count on, when things go to shit, because sooner or later, they always do. The woman you want to keep. To have and to hold." Paige drew in a sharp breath. "The woman you want to marry."  
Paige looked at Henry, and his face was unreadable. She realized her heart was pounding so hard she was almost shaking.  
"Henry, please, fucking say _something,"_ she pleaded.  
Henry's face slowly softened into a wide grin. "I believe you," he said.  
"You do?"  
"I don't see this from you very often, Paige, but every once in a while, when you've really made up your mind to do something, you get this whole 'I'm going to kick the world's ass' attitude going on, and then you always go out, and do exactly what you say you're going to do. I always wished I knew where to find that switch, and keep it flipped to 'on' all the time. But it looks like you've managed to find it for yourself - and I am really, really glad to see it from you now."  
He rolled off the bed, returned to the closet and rummaged for a moment in his coat pocket. He returned to the bed with something cradled in his hand.  
"I've been hanging on to this for a while now," he said quietly. "I've been waiting for the right time to share it with you. And I think what I've been waiting for, more than anything else, is for you to say those words you just said. Or something like them."  
Henry opened his hand and inside was a small jeweler's box. Paige's hands flew to her mouth. Henry grinned and handed her the box, and inside was a gold ring with a modest diamond in its seat.  
"Paige Matthews," said Henry Mitchell, "Will you be my stand up woman? My good as gold Paige? The woman who's got my back, when everything around us goes to shit? To have and to hold? Paige, will you be my wife?"  
With a shriek of joy, Paige flung herself on Henry and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, sobbing. "Oh, yeah," she answered emphatically. "Fuck, yeah. I am so ready to be your Mrs. Mitchell."  
"I think you are," Henry smiled, "And I am ready to be your Mr. Mitchell."  
"Ha! You mean my Mr. Matthews."  
"That, too."  
They shared a passionate kiss, and Paige could not help wincing with pain.  
_"Oww._ Ow ow ow. Sorry," she grimaced. "Sorry. I'm still a little tender."  
Henry relaxed his grip. "Maybe we just need to borrow a page from your sister's playbook," he said softly. "We'll go slow and gentle." He grinned. "Until you're back up to speed."  
"I'm thinking, I'm liking the whole slow and gentle thing," Paige agreed thoughtfully. "Maybe Prue's onto something, after all."

* * *

It was shortly after 7 PM on a chilly Thursday evening, and Phoebe and Paige were standing outside a large, nondescript building at the edge of Chinatown. Paige looked up at the brightly lit windows on the second floor with trepidation.  
"Ready to go up?" Phoebe asked quietly.  
"No," Paige answered truthfully.  
"You made it this far. Only a few more steps," Phoebe attempted to cajole her sister.  
Paige couldn't even manage a smile in reply. She stared up at the windows again, and sighed despairingly.  
"I try so hard to put this shit behind me," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "So fucking hard. And every time I turn around, there it is - staring me in the face again."  
"The challenge is always going to be in front of you, Paige. I think you know that."  
"I know. It's just - I'm so sick of it."  
"This is something necessary. It doesn't have to be something bad."  
Paige shrugged noncommittally.  
"It's going to be better this time," Phoebe assured her quietly. "Trust your sister who can see the future. This time will be different."  
Paige turned to her sister, and gave her the briefest flicker of a smile. "Thanks for coming with me. I wasn't ready to subject Henry to my first day back in the third circle of Hell."  
"You're sure it's okay for me to be here?"  
"It's an open meeting, Phoebe. You don't have to be a drunk to get in."  
As Phoebe gave her sister a reproving glance, Paige grumbled a quick apology. "Sorry. Sorry. It's gonna take a little while to build the self-esteem back up."  
"Take all the time you need, as long as you do it." Phoebe held out her hand to her sister. "Shall we?"  
Paige closed her eyes for a moment, drew in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. Then she opened her eyes, nodded grimly, and slipped her hand inside Phoebe's; and together, they walked in through the front entrance and up the short flight of steps into the meeting hall.  
About two dozen folding chairs had been arranged in a rough semi-circle on the wood-planked floor. Ten of the seats were filled, and a portly, middle-aged man with a silvered goatee smiled warmly at Paige and quickly stood up to meet the new arrivals.  
"Hey, Paige," the man said, giving her a quick hug. "Good to see you. We're just about to get started."  
"Hey, Jimmy." Paige returned the hug willingly. "Been a while."  
"You're always welcome, you know that." Jimmy held out his hand to Phoebe. "Hi, I'm Jimmy," he said, introducing himself. "You're a new attendee?"  
"Hi, Jimmy. I'm Phoebe. Paige is my sister."  
"Sister?" Jimmy raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, glancing at Paige.  
"If you've got time after the meeting, I'll tell you all about it," Paige promised.  
"Great. Come on in and sit down, then, and we'll get started."  
Phoebe and Paige took adjoining chairs at one end of the circle, and Jimmy returned to the circle but remained standing.  
"Welcome, everyone," he said. "It's just now seven, so let's get underway. I'm Jimmy. I'm an alcoholic. I'm also your chairperson for this evening's assembly. I'd like to welcome you to the Chinatown Thursday evening AA meeting. Before I read the preamble, we'd like to give a special welcome to our new attendees. So let's go around the circle, and if you'd like to, please feel free to introduce yourselves."  
He nodded to Paige, who was in the farthest seat at the right.  
Paige cleared her throat nervously. "Hi, everybody. My name's Paige. I -" She had to swallow hard before continuing. "I am an alcoholic."  
There was a friendly murmur of welcome from the group. "Hi, Paige."  
Phoebe reached over and gave Paige's hand a gentle squeeze. "Hello. I'm Phoebe, and I'm here to give my sister Paige some moral support."  
"Hi, Phoebe."  
As the other attendees introduced themselves, the sisters remained sitting with hands clasped, and Phoebe smiled reassuringly at her sister.  
_We'll get through this together,_ her smile said. _You are not alone._  
Paige returned the smile, faltering at first, but slowly growing with both strength and gratitude. She looked down at the new engagement ring on her finger. At that moment, it represented more than just a promise; it was a vote of confidence. Paige was suddenly, acutely, breathtakingly aware how deeply she was loved. _The strongest magic of all,_ she thought, and after the preamble and the twelve traditions had been read aloud, she felt strong enough to share her story. 

Shortly after the sisters returned home, and Phoebe had tucked Paige into bed, Phoebe returned to the study, and took a small crystal ball down from the bookshelf and set it on the rolltop desk. She barely whispered an incantation, keeping her voice low, in case Paige was still awake. In the translucent sphere, a man's face slowly came into view: haggard, fiftyish, with a shock of greying hair and unkempt beard. Phoebe's look changed to one of grim intensity, masking a barely suppressed anger.  
"I know your name now, Sam Wilder," she murmured softly. "And I promise you, there is no place on this heaven or earth where you can hide yourself from me."

**Author's Note:**

> Back when the "Charmed AU" series was just getting started, the sisters encountered an eyeless, winged demon who was purportedly the great-grandson of Argus. The demon was intended, however obliquely, to be a tip of the hat to "The Eyeball Kid", created by Ed Hillyer and Eddie Campbell. The exhilarating and maniacally inspired Kid was part of a larger series of stories authored by Campbell, revolving around the God of Wine, Bacchus. Campbell is probably best known to American audiences for his collaboration with Alan Moore on "From Hell", but his Bacchus stories - written in the late 80s / early 90s and reprinted in America as "Doing The Islands With Bacchus" - remains a masterful example of storytelling at the very highest level. In this latest "Charmed" story, the God of Wine himself - specifically, Campbell's interpretation of him - makes a "Deus Ex Machina" cameo appearance, and this is mostly an homage from me in gratitude to Eddie's work. If you have any interest in Greek mythology, or just damn good storytelling in general, I can't recommend his work highly enough. Seek it out, you won't be disappointed.


End file.
